


Just Enough

by hydratedbarnes



Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydratedbarnes/pseuds/hydratedbarnes
Summary: If Mando can lift his helmet to get a drink of soup then surely he can do the same when he finally kisses you, right?
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin & Reader, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Reader, Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 170





	Just Enough

Surely that’s not allowed, right?

It must be breaking some rule of his. Perhaps it’s a loophole, in all _technicality_ , Baby isn’t a human... but it is a living thing. And so are you.

It doesn’t really all make sense. Surely at this point, he’s made his way around. Cut some corners. Made corners. Whatever he needs to do. Even if that meant you.

In all honesty, your relationship with the Mandalorian is a peculiar one. It sits between many lines, fine lines where you’re unsure where it’s tethering to. Though you don’t disrupt the dynamic, you simply sit. Wait for whatever happens between you.

Maybe a hug. A laugh. A joke.

Kriff, you knew he hasn’t done half of those things yet you still wait. You watch. Which is what you do one morning with an aching back when you sit with father and son for breakfast.

You’re sat comfortable on the cold floor of the Crest, legs crossed while Baby and Din sat in front of you on crates.

He’s argued with you many things before about using it as a seat. Though, you countered you preferred the floor, finding it better for your back and with an added bonus, you were eye-level with Baby.

With his big wide eyes, staring right ahead of you with perked ears, he coos softly when you hand him breakfast; soup. It’s his favourite. Doesn’t require much chewing given with his set of munchers, more so, lack of.

Perhaps that’s why he swallows most of his food. Or why he swallowed most of the eggs the week before when they had that frog as a guest. She was fun. Until eventually she nearly got you killed.

Whatever, you’re alive now. That’s all that matters. And thankful that you’re still with the team, alive and well.

And as Baby coos in what sounds like a thanks, you giggled with a smile and greeting once again. A small, _you’re welcome_ , sufficing. Then you’re shamelessly peering up at Din, the visor of his helmet tilted towards you and Baby as if in wonder.

Sometimes you, yourself, wonder what happens beneath those pieces of beskar. Does he smile when Baby does something stupid? Or when you do something dumb? Or perhaps he frowns and present a crease in his brow when you nearly get yourself killed?

Perhaps you’ll never know. Much like the way you’ll never find out if he has brown hair that matches his eyes. Or if they’re blue and he has complimenting blonde roots. Maybe he has a mustache? Perhaps a beard even.

And it’s clear the thought buries you deep in your head when Baby coos back your attention. His floppy ears down in concern and confusion, thinking if his mama is alright. You gift him a warm smile, reaching a finger out to run it down the tiny slope of his nose.

“You should eat. You need the energy.” Din’s voice is soft but just as loud through modulator. On occasions you hate how robotic it sounds. The static. The frizz in his voice. Sometimes you yearn for it when he’s gone longer than the promised out for his bounties. But you know it’s nothing you’ll take for granted.

Giving him a small nod, your hand cups the small metal cup, warm in your hand, you’re thankful for the heat. You don’t hesitate to lift it up towards your lip, they’re chapped, red and bleeding on most days thanks to the dryness. However; when the soup touchss your skin, it’s comforting, healing as you take minuscule sips to rationalize. To savour.

You watch with a grin as Baby does the same. Only his are fast and large, no care that there may be no more seconds for him. But when he finishes, his small green head turns and so does yours in curiosity.

There, Din reaches towards his helmet, nearly has your heart beating loudly out of your chest in anticipation of what he may do.

Clearly, Baby has the same idea when the two of you share a look. Slightly, but just enough, Din lifts the chin of his helmet and by the use of his other hand, brings the cup to his lips.

You’re practically frozen just the way you were on that ice planet the three of you were deserted on. Thinking surely that must be against his Creed? But it isn’t as he does it again. So nonchalant. Almost as if he didn’t care that you saw the slightest glimpse of his chin.

Almost as if he wanted you to.

He returns the place of his beskar back down, covers his entire identity and tilts the helmet back up; to you. With wide eyes, they find the bottom of your cup, staring into nothing while waiting for his gaze to pass.

“Are you alright, _cyar'ika?_ ” You practically feel your toes curl at the nickname, especially with the way his voice is uncharacteristically gentle. He’s never one to raise his voice but he’s never one to be to kind until he speaks to you.

And when you meet his gaze, whatever they may be through the visor of his helmet, you greet him with a return of a gentle smile and a nod.

Your heart races at the nickname. And while he’s called you it many times before, it’s always a reassurance to your heart with the way it falls so lovingly from his lips. Which makes you wonder, most of the time really, if his lips are just as soft as they sound.

Or are they just as rough as yours? Chapped and dry, you can’t offer him comfort from your mouth, if he were ever to kiss that is. It is a shame, really. You may never be given the chance. Another life you suppose.

When breakfast is finished, cups are stacked and Baby is cuddled back into his favourite blanket. The one you spent your last credits on when you and Din had gone to the market together.

It’s blue, seemingly his favourite and he never not takes it anywhere. Keeps it in his basket, cuddles warmly agaisnt it during cold nights in hyperspace.

While Din prepares the ship, presses the buttons on the control board as they’re muscle memory, you’re seated inches behind him to his left. Your knees pressed to your chest, your brain wracks the knowledge of what he must be doing.

You have another trip, an addition to the many endless ones the three of you have. While it’s fun, the hours in between hyperspace are the worst. If it weren’t for him, your death wouldn’t have been by some hunter on a foreign planet but perhaps boredom or loneliness.

With Baby fast asleep, perhaps you must do something productive in that time. So with bare feet against cold floors, you make your way down from the cockpit. The hull of the ship empty and lacking of lights. Perhaps you can attempt to fix that.

Keep your mind occupied while Din sets course to another planet. Where? You’re not sure. But you are sure that you’ll follow him to the ends of the galaxy if that’s what it mean to stick by his side.

And while occupied with tools in hand, a soft hum leaving your pressed lips, you’re seemingly too busy to hear the faint steps of Don’s arrival. Yoire only aware of his presence when his shadow looms over your hunched figure.

“Do you need help?” You’re peering up at him with a tool in hand. You want to say no but the company might be relieving. So you smile, then nod as an answer before handing him the tool.

While his presence is comforting, your heart still raced at the idea of him being so near. Not in fear but in nervousness. As Din is a reserved man, built for the Way, he follows no one but himself and his creed. You know nothing but his name. Given to you in a heated moment, that’s all he’s ever let.

Yet somehow, your relationship with him is one of but the peculiar sorts. With shared glance and shared beds, it’s perceived nothing more than two crewmates in need of sole company.

Then why is he calling you _cyar'ika?_ A sweetheart of nothing but the sorts. A mechanic, yes, but nothing sweet of the heart. Stars, you don’t even know if yours belong to his or his to yours.

And must’ve sensed the way your head worked as his helmet tilted to your line of view. A lip between your teeth, your tongue drips heavily with the question you’ve been begging to ask since this morning. Finally, you let yourself bite the bullet.

“Why do you call me _cyar'ika?_ ”

The question leaves the two of you basking in the hum of the ship. It’s not awkward or anything of the sort but it is anticipating. To wait for his answer, will it be a mean one or will it be kind and reflect the sincerity of the pet name.

“Do you not want me to call you that?”

You should’ve thought of your answer yet instead, you didn’t hesitate to answer with a shake of your head. “No, it’s just... I know what it means, Din.” Your breathing shallows, your confession is heavy yet or feels like more weight has been added to your shoulders. “But I don’t know if that’s what I truly mean to you.”

There’s a few seconds that pass, though it feels more like hours when you’re staring at nothing but the blackness of a visor; unknowing to whether if he were looking at you the way you were at him. To wonder if his eyes held the same softness and appreciation that yours held.

But his hand reached out, careful and attentive to where he places it to your cheek. He’s not wearing his gloves. You feel his skin. Him. Not some worn out leather, stained with grime and dirt. But you feel his warmth. His heat. The callous on his fingers.

“You mean the universe to me, _cyar'ika_.”

Stars, you want to kiss him. You want to feel the difference of his lips from his fingers. You want to know. You want to feel Din Djarin. The man who you’d go to the ends of the galaxy for. Not the Mandalore he was made. But the man you love.

And somehow he felt the same. He felt that same need as he snaked a hand to the nape your neck and pulled you ever so close to the beskar of his helmet. He feels cold. But you know under he’s nothing of the sorts. You know that he’s warm, he’s gentle, he’s kind.

Yet you felt the pang of hurt hit you when you realized you may never feel it pressed against your lips nor your skin. And while he may be a man as well, you can’t deny that he is of Mandalore as well.

“Din...” You’re unsure of what you’re asking him to. Perhaps it’s an excuse to have his name roll off your tongue. Either way, this is fine. He is nothing but exceptional and amazing.

Though, it has seem to that he wants more than beskar to skin. He wants to touch you. The same way you want to touch him. His head races, surely, it isn’t wrong. After all, if he can do it with the breakfast he drank, then he can steal a kiss.

_Just one_ , he tells himself. Maybe along the lines of their future he’ll get more than a lifetime. Who knows. All he wants is to feel you. A shameless confession from a man in love.

He can do this, surely, it won’t be a problem. Kriff, he had already done hours prior during breakfast. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a kiss.

The looking is nothing he’s worried of. He trusts you, wholeheartedly. Stars, he’s even let you have the Baby if ever something happened.

And as his hands left her face, the slightest of frowns curving on her lips, he reaches towards the beskar on his head. He can sense your curious gaze on him, wondering if he must be so crazy to break his beliefs for you.

However, you realized what he must’ve been asking. _A kiss. Just one. It’ll suffice._ It’ll make up for the lost times where the both of you bit your tongue in fear of rejection.

With such curious gaze, a smile blossoms on the etches of your lips. Just one. You’ll get one but you’re sure his lips would feel just the way you imagine they are.

Your eyes find the tempting space, you want to reach and pull it back and see Din. But this itself will be enough and certainly you won’t take it for granted, you won’t miss it.

And with one simple lean, the slightest bit of a tilt in the heels of your feet, and just like that: Your mouth is on his.

It’s a little awkward, nonetheless given with the way the helmet still stands in your hand but you can feel him. You can feel his lips. Stars, you knew it. They were nothing but soft. Warm even and you can’t help but melt to his touch.

Stars... This is what heaven must feel like. This is it. You could simply die with the way he kisses you back; a hand to your cheek while another in the nape of your neck. He’s pulling you close, flushed even against him and by the Maker, he feels like a fever dream.

Perhaps it is and you’ve hit your head hard against the door while entering the Razor Crest and you’ve gone passed out.

But maybe this is real and he’s actually kissing you. The feel of hair above his lip tickles your own, making you smile agaisnt the gesture. Maker, you’re in love. He must have a mustache, a beard even when you you slip a hand under.

“ _Cyar'ika_..” It comes as a mumbled against your lips, kind and gentle, he only pulls away in need of breath. Just as you do.

You know you don’t need them closed yet they are and a shaky breath leaves your mouth in desperation. “Please don’t stop calling me that.”

He shook his head as softly as he could, even kept your face in the palm of his hands. His whole world. His love. His _cyar'ika_. And as your hands pulls the beskar back down, the reality of the truth but st least you’ve gotten a taste.

“Never, **_cyar'ika_**. You’re all I need.”


End file.
